


tall enough to reach for the stars

by oryx



Category: Kamen Rider W
Genre: Age Difference, Complicated Relationships, Hero Worship, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Praise Kink, Trans Male Character, maybe not entirely healthy, sex as closure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 08:47:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20945570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oryx/pseuds/oryx
Summary: During the Year of Charming Raven, Shotaro goes universe-hopping on accident.





	tall enough to reach for the stars

**Author's Note:**

> this has been sitting in my WIPs for. almost a full 5 (five) years now. which may be kind of evident in parts of the writing. at one point i was like "god no i'm never finishing or posting this" but y'know what? it's almost 2020. viva la turning off the shame limiters

  
It’s a Saturday evening like any other when it happens. Hanasaki slams the office door open without so much as a knock, just like he always does; leans against the doorframe with the stub of a cigarette held between his fingertips.  
  
“There’s a kid downstairs I’ve never seen before,” he says. “Claims he’s a detective, and _this_ is his office.”  
  
Sokichi pauses, fingers hovering just above the keys, and stares at Hanasaki over top of the typewriter paper. He hasn’t had anyone try to impersonate him in a long while. That, at least, is something different from the usual routine.  
  
“Seemed kinda suspicious, so my boys are keeping an eye on him, but…?”  
  
“It’s fine,” Sokichi says. “Send him up.”  
  
When the kid stumbles in, cursing under his breath at the thug that shoved him, Sokichi immediately straightens in his seat. He never forgets a face, after all, and the circumstances surrounding this one had been particularly memorable.  
  
He’s still not sure what to make of that bizarre dimension-hopping incident a few months back. He’s seen some strange things in his time. Here in Fuuto in particular, where oddities have a tendency to get swept in on the wind. But never anything quite as inexplicable as an ‘alternate universe.’ Those three kids – total strangers, but familiar in a way he can’t explain – staring up at him like he was some kind of saint… It’s the sort of mental image that sticks with a man. They’d known him, clearly. A different him. What kind of person must his other self be, to have a couple of twenty-something brats look at him like that? (Like he was some distant star they could admire but never reach.)  
  
The more he dwells on it, the more he’s convinced: the other him must be a real self-important prick.  
  
Obviously this kid doesn’t share the sentiment. His eyes are wide as he stares at Sokichi, and his mouth is working soundlessly, like he’s trying to say something but can’t find the words within himself.  
  
“_Boss_,” he says finally, voice tight with emotion. He takes a hesitant step closer. “Boss, you – ”  
  
“I’m not your boss, kid,” Sokichi says, finishing up the last line of his report and sliding the paper free, blowing softly on the ink to dry it. “Though we have met before. I told you I liked the way you wore your hat.” He glances up and gives him a thoughtful once-over. “Still looking good. Tie’s a bit crooked, though.”  
  
The kid makes a quiet ‘oh’ sound as he hurries to fix it.  
  
“Take a seat, if you like,” Sokichi says, nodding towards the empty chair in the corner. The kid pulls it up to the desk and complies, still staring at him like he can’t quite believe he’s real. Like he might vanish if he looks away too long. “What’s your name, anyway?”  
  
“Oh, it’s… Hidari,” he says, and seems to wilt a bit as he does so. As if he’d been hoping Sokichi might know his name instinctively. “Hidari Shotaro.”  
  
Sokichi nods. It’s a fitting kind of name, he thinks, for this soft-faced young man. No hard edges to either. “How’d you get here?”  
  
“I… don’t really know? I just turned a corner and suddenly I didn’t recognize any of the buildings.” He fiddles with his hat in his lap. “Tried walking back the way I came, but…”  
  
“Hmm. Well, don’t worry about it too much,” Sokichi says with a wave of his hand. “I’m not going to pretend I understand this ‘other world’ business, but… If there’s a way here then there must be a way back. Simple as that. Can’t imagine there’s too many one-way streets when it comes to alternate dimensions.”  
  
“…Yeah,” says Shotaro, the tension in his shoulders relaxing a bit as he nods his head. A few reassuring words from his ‘boss,’ it seems, and his worries start to fade. “Yeah, you’re right.”  
  
Sokichi studies him for a time; watches him squirm under the scrutiny.  
  
“This boss of yours,” he says finally. “He something special to you?”  
  
“Well… yeah, of course,” the kid says, clearing his throat awkwardly. He lifts a hand and rubs at the back of his neck, and there’s a faint redness in his cheeks. (Ah, Sokichi thinks. So that’s how it is.) “He was pretty amazing, y’know? Like – like a real life Marlowe. It seemed like… like he knew everything. What to say and. How to act. I don’t think I ever saw him make a mistake.” The kid laughs, though it rings hollow. “I mean. Except for taking me on. He probably regretted that one.”  
  
Past tense. So he’s gone, then. Somehow Sokichi isn’t surprised. He’s had plenty of close brushes with death in his time – it’s only reasonable that some other version of him would be a little less fortunate.  
  
“Regret?” he says. “Why’s that? You seem like a pretty stand-up kid. Better than I was at your age. Probably better than he was, too.”  
  
“But it’s my fault he – ”  
  
The kid breaks off, lowering his eyes, trailing a thumb along the brim of his hat. The material looks slightly worn there. A nervous habit.  
  
“And I… I can’t do it,” he continues, softly this time. “I can’t be like y – like him. I keep trying but I’m just. I’m not.”  
  
“You think he wanted you to be like him?”  
  
Shotaro glances up and blinks at him with those wide eyes.  
  
“He have any family, this boss of yours?”  
  
“…Y-yeah. A daughter. Akiko. What, you mean, you don’t…?”  
  
Sokichi ignores the half-asked question. First a protégé, and now a daughter. That girl he saw back then, he assumes. Maybe there really had been some cosmic reason for him crossing dimensions for that brief moment, to see the faces of those three awe-struck kids. Like the ghosts of all the things he could’ve had, but never did.  
  
“How often did he see his daughter?” Sokichi asks.  
  
Shotaro pauses visibly as he contemplates this. His mouth curves into a frown.  
  
“Men like your boss,” Sokichi continues, leaning back in his seat, “they’re lonely by nature. They can try all they want to surround themselves with friends, with family, but in the end… they’re bound to be alone.” He can feel himself smiling, and knows there must be a hard edge to it. “It’s not the kind of life you wish on another person. I’m sure your boss would’ve wanted something different for you.  
  
“You have people close to you, don’t you? You look like someone who does.”  
  
The kid hesitates for a moment before nodding. He swallows visibly, then, shoulders slumping low. “But I – I let one of them die. I couldn’t do anything for him. All I could do was stand there as he…” His voice trails off into nothing, and Sokichi thinks that he looks very small and lost in this moment. “Boss wouldn’t have let his partner down like that. He would’ve found a way to save him.”  
  
“You think?” Sokichi raises an eyebrow. “Seems to me you’re giving this guy too much credit. He’s dead, isn’t he? It’s not like he was a god. You say he never made mistakes, but I promise you he did. He was just practiced enough to make them look intentional.”  
  
Shotaro opens his mouth and then closes it again, brow furrowing. “That’s,” he tries to protest. “That”s not – ”  
  
“Anyhow, doesn’t look like home will be coming back for you anytime soon,” Sokichi says, cutting him off. “If you need somewhere to stay tonight, you can come to my place.”  
  
That gets a reaction of the kid – a widening of the eyes, a soft intake of breath.  
  
“You don’t know anyone else in this Fuuto, do you? I’d say your options are limited. Unless you care to shell out for a hotel room?”  
  
Hesitantly, Shotaro shakes his head.  
  
“Left my wallet back at the office,” he mumbles, and Sokichi can’t help but huff out a quiet laugh, a pang of unexpected fondness in his chest.  
  
  
  
  
  
“You… live around here?” Shotaro asks, a subtle hint of uneasiness tingeing his voice.  
  
Sokichi makes a noise of assent. It’s the part of town where people loiter for hours on dimly-lit street corners, where the alleyways are strewn with refuse and neon signs reflect off of the slick pavement. The part of town where he feels most at home, if he’s being honest. The swankier neighborhoods have always felt unnerving by comparison, without any obvious shadows to hide in.  
  
“We, uh. We don’t really have places like this in my Fuuto.”  
  
“Really?” Sokichi says. “Maybe you just haven’t looked hard enough.”  
  
Out of the corner of his eye he can see an affronted expression flicker across the kid’s face. Teasing him is proving to be surprisingly enjoyable.  
  
They’ve just turned the street adjacent to his when the rain starts – a faint misty drizzle giving way to a torrential downpour in the blink of an eye. Shotaro yelps in surprise at the same time that Sokichi curses under his breath, grabbing the kid by the arm and hauling him down the block, only letting go once they’re safely through the entranceway of his apartment complex. The kid is just as soaked to the bone as Sokichi is, clothes clinging to his thin frame and hair plastered in dark strands to his face. A puppy left out in a storm. He shakes the excess water off of his hat mournfully.  
  
“Luck really isn’t on your side today, kid,” Sokichi says, shrugging off his sodden suitjacket and motioning for Shotaro to follow after.  
  
“Seems like it never is,” he hears him mutter.  
  
Karin is out smoking on the third story landing – she gives him a knowing smile when she sees the kid trailing behind him.  
  
“I was gonna ask if you wanted to have some fun tonight, Sokichi-san,” she says. “But I guess I wasn’t quick enough, huh?” She gives Shotaro a pensive once-over, and he hurriedly straightens up, clearing his throat and adjusting his tie like he’s about to make some formal introduction. “I didn’t know _this_ was your type.”  
  
Shotaro seems to grasp the meaning of her words, then, freezing in place with his hand still tugging at his collar.  
  
“Eh?” he says. The tips of his ears are suddenly, vividly pink.  
  
“It’s not like that,” Sokichi tells her, but Karin looks blatantly unconvinced.  
  
She reaches out to pat Shotaro on the cheek like a doting mother might. “Be careful with these handsome older men, sweetie,” she says. “They’ll ruin your life if you’re not careful. You come to me if he does wrong by you, alright?”  
  
Shotaro is still looking like a deer in the headlights as Sokichi sighs and tugs him away.  
  
  
  
  
  
Shotaro seems unreasonably amazed by everything in his apartment, from his collection of old blues records to his dogeared mystery novel bookshelf, trailing a fingertip reverently across the worn spines.  
  
“Sorry, I just – Boss never invited me to his place,” he says with a taut, wavering laugh. “I always kinda wondered what it looked like. And this is. Well. I guess it’s not all that different from the office. Just,” here he clears his throat, “a little more… domestic.”  
  
His eyes flicker towards the bedroom door that’s been left ajar.  
  
Damn, but this poor kid has it bad. For a dead man, nonetheless. Nothing real ever happened between them, is the impression he’s getting. A one-sided carrying of the torch, never to be requited. Sokichi unwittingly finds himself wondering how many times Shotaro has touched himself thinking about this “Boss.” About this person with the exact same face and name as Sokichi. It’s a dangerous thought, and it makes something curl warm and velvety dark in the pit of his stomach.  
  
“I’ll get you something to change into,” he says. “Go ahead and use the shower, too, if you like.”  
  
(Maybe he stands just a little too close when he presses the folded clothes into Shotaro’s hands, observing the way the kid looks up at him uncertainly from beneath his eyelashes, the way his body seems to tense.)  
  
As he hears the water turn on, Sokichi looks into finding fresh clothes for himself as well, hanging his sodden suit out to dry and changing into comfortable slacks and shirtsleeves. He pauses in front of the table where he keeps the good whiskey; debates for a moment before turning over one of the tumblers and pouring himself a half glass. He sips at his drink thoughtfully and watches the clock as the minutes tick past. Debates putting on a record, but wonders what kind of mood that might set.  
  
He knows why Karin gave him that disbelieving look, but it’s not as if he implicitly brought this kid here with impure intentions. He couldn’t just leave him to fend for himself, could he? Not in a city like this one – a city that’s a great deal rougher around the edges than the version Shotaro is used to, if his comments are any indication.  
  
This, he thinks, is nothing more than an innocent favor.  
  
“Um,” Shotaro’s voice says, and as Sokichi turns to look at him that thought flickers and fades as quick as it came.  
  
“The pants didn’t fit me,” he says, with a faint, embarrassed laugh, and Sokichi’s eyes linger on his bare thighs as he shifts his weight. How his other self managed to resist this – the kid might as well be offering himself up to him – is beyond Sokichi’s understanding. Too straight, maybe? Now there’s a bizarre thought.  
  
“Thanks, though,” he continues. “For everything. You didn’t have to go to all this trouble, but you did, and you hardly even know me, and. Yeah.” He licks his lips nervously. “Thank you, Bo – Narumi-san.”  
  
Sokichi’s shirt is too big on him as well, leaving half of his shoulder bare, and his eyes trace a droplet of water as it glides down the curve of his neck. He sets his drink aside and steps forward, then, closing the gap between them, and reaches out to fix Shotaro’s collar, smoothing it down and allowing his hand to linger, brushing his thumb across bare skin. Shotaro sucks in a breath and stands very still, colour high in his cheeks.  
  
“I may not be your boss,” Sokichi says. “But if you wanted, just for a little while… I could pretend to be. Would you like that?”  
  
Shotaro hesitates. Nods once, a small, tense motion.  
  
“Alright.” He lets his hand fall, then, placing it on Shotaro’s waist, and takes yet another step closer, until the line of Shotaro’s body is all but pressed against his own.  
  
“I wonder. What would you want him to say, if he were here?” he asks, low and soft. He can feel a full-body shiver work its way through the kid’s slender frame. “Something like… You’ve done such a good job, Shotaro. You worked so hard while I was gone, didn’t you? I can tell. You’ve become a man that I can admire.”  
  
Shotaro’s breath hitches, his fingers curling tight into the fabric of Sokichi’s shirt. _Ah_, he thinks. So his theory was correct: that this kid has been waiting and hoping for a kind word for years now. Dreaming of the approval of someone who is no longer around to give it. Who perhaps wouldn’t ever say such things, even if he were still there. It’s a sad thought.  
  
“I’m sorry for leaving you,” he continues. “It must have been hard. But you’ve been so good for me, haven’t you? Just like always.”  
  
“No,” Shotaro chokes out. “No, I – I messed up back then, I didn’t listen to you, I – ”  
  
“It’s fine,” Sokichi murmurs. “It wasn’t your fault, Shotaro. None of it was. I _know_ you’ve been good for me. And you always will, won’t you?”  
  
There is a long pause before he whispers “yes” against his shoulder.  
  
“That’s right.” Sokichi moves his hand to rest open-palmed on the small of Shotaro’s back, and leans in further still, until his lips are brushing the shell of his ear. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you? I’m so, so proud of you.”  
  
At that, Shotaro whimpers – a desperate, needy sound that lies low in the back of his throat. Sokichi can feel heat at the junction of his hips as he all but straddles Sokichi’s thigh, pressing against him eagerly, as if he truly believes that friction is all he’ll get. Sokichi laughs softly, lips curving into a smile against the line of Shotaro’s jaw.  
  
(He wonders, distantly, if this makes him worse than his other self – preying on the unanswered feelings of someone younger, someone so obviously tired and lonely. This is what the kid wants, isn’t it? Wants it so bad he’s practically begging for it, eyes glassy, biting his lip as he follows Sokichi into the bedroom. And yet still the feeling of lechery persists.  
  
After this, he thinks, he may have a few more sins to count up.)  
  
“Get on your knees,” he says, as he sits on the edge of the bed. He assumes this is what Shotaro really wants – for his boss to tell him exactly what to do, to be able to follow those orders like he didn’t before – and by the look of relief on Shotaro’s face he seems to have assumed correctly. He drops to his knees readily and blinks up at him with those round, dark pupils, his lips parted slightly.  
  
“Go on,” Sokichi says, and Shotaro reaches out to tug at his zipper with trembling fingers. He looks a bit put out by the fact that Sokichi is not yet hard – worried, maybe, that it’s some personal failing of his own, and Sokichi can feel a laugh that’s more like a hum in the back of throat.  
  
“I’m not as young as you are,” he says. “Takes a bit more encouragement.”  
  
Shotaro seems to take that as his next command. His fingers wrap around Sokichi’s cock – long and slender, his palms clammy from nervousness in a way that’s oddly endearing. He leans in to lick a stripe along the underside before taking the tip in his mouth, and beyond the wet heat of it, it’s his expression – so eager to please – that sends something jolting through Sokichi, growing hard against Shotaro’s tongue. He reaches out to twine his fingers through the kid’s hair, still soft and damp from the shower, tugging lightly and receiving a soft sigh of contentment in return. He can feel the sound against the head of his cock as Shotaro takes him deeper in his mouth.  
  
His technique could use some work. But he looks so pretty like this, those slick red lips and the way he keeps glancing up at him through his eyelashes.  
  
“You’re doing so good for me,” Sokichi says softly, and watches the flush high in Shotaro’s cheeks deepen, watches his hand slip down between his own thighs.  
  
Sokichi is stiff and aching, and he wonders if he could come from just this (how many years has it been since he was so easy?), but even so he puts his hand on Shotaro’s shoulder and pushes him back gently. His mouth looks bruised and beautiful.  
  
“You want more than just this, don’t you?” he asks. “Open up the bedside drawer.”  
  
Shotaro scrambles to obey, returning with a condom in hand, but as Sokichi takes it from him and tears it open something in him seems to change, something a bit like panic flickering across his face. He stands there between Sokichi’s thighs with tension coiled tight in his shoulders.  
  
“I’m not – ” he begins, but doesn’t seem to know what to say after.  
  
“Not what?”  
  
“I don’t – I don’t have – ”  
  
“A dick?” Sokichi says, and can feel amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’d say that was pretty obvious when you were pressing up against me a few minutes ago.”  
  
Shotaro blinks those wide eyes. “Oh.”  
  
“A bit different,” Sokichi says, “from the men I usually take to bed. But not a drawback.”  
  
This seems to set the kid at ease, just a little, but the anxious set to his features still remains. “I never – I never said anything to him,” he says, halting and unsteady. “He probably knew anyway. He knew everything. But I. I never talked about it. I guess I was afraid to find out. When he used to tell me I wasn’t good enough… Was that what he meant?”  
  
His eyes are pleading as he looks at Sokichi, who reaches up to palm his neck, a reflexive, soothing kind of touch.  
  
“Can’t exactly speak for him,” he says. “But I know I only judge a man on three things: his clothes, his sense of justice, and how he takes his coffee.” A beat. “You do take yours black, I hope?”  
  
Shotaro worries his lip with his teeth. “I… pretend to,” he admits. “I add sugar when no one’s looking.”  
  
Sokichi stares at him for a moment before trying and failing to bite back a laugh. “Well, that’s a start,” he muses, and pulls Shotaro into a kiss. His mouth opens for him, pliant, and he tugs on the condom one-handed as he grazes Shotaro’s lips with his teeth.  
  
“Lie down for me,” he murmurs, and Shotaro nods, stumbling a bit over his own feet as he hurries to comply.  
  
Sokichi sits between his spread thighs; slips two fingers into the wet heat of him and listens to his breath catch. Smiles and smoothes his hair back from his forehead as he works him open, until he’s grinding down on his fingers with a whimper in the back of his throat. He slides his fingers free, shifting his position and leaning over him with a steadying hand on his waist, lifting his hips and slowly sinking his cock into him, and Shotaro’s mouth falls open, a small, soft sound, eyes fluttering shut. It’s so sweet his heart aches.  
  
He fucks him gentle, unhurried, watching every subtle change on his face, and when Shotaro puts his arms around his neck and says into his ear, voice breaking, “I miss you,” Sokichi says “I know, I’m sorry” and feels for a moment like he truly is.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
“How is this still not dry?” he mutters, turning his hat over in his hands. “After being in the rain for two minutes – ”  
  
“Care to wear one of mine?”  
  
“Eh?” He looks over his shoulder to blink at him. The morning sunlight through the window clearly illuminates the way his hair is sticking up in every direction.  
  
“Until yours is fit for it. I’ll lend you one.” Sokichi sets aside his coffee. “Hold on. Let me find something for you.”  
  
He selects an elegant dark blue, in the end, a checkered pattern under the brim; walks back in and drops it onto Shotaro’s head with a smile. His expression is startled as he lifts a hand to touch it reverently.  
  
“This is – you don’t have to.” His voice sounds a bit thick.  
  
Sokichi raises an eyebrow. “It’s just a hat, Shotaro. I have about thirty of them.”  
  
“Yeah, but… After everything I…” He chews on his lip; shakes his head. “I’m sorry. For treating you like him.”  
  
“I wasn’t exactly opposed to it. If you’ll recall.”  
  
Shotaro’s face flushes. “St-still. It wasn’t right. Honestly, you… You’ve kind of been nicer to me in the past fifteen hours than he ever was in all the years I knew him.”  
  
_Your definition of ‘nice’ could probably use some work, kid_, he almost says, but thinks better of it at the last moment.  
  
“You’re depressing me first thing in the morning,” he says drily. “Come on. I know a place that serves good breakfast. I’ll treat you.”  
  
  
  
  
  
“This is… kinda nostalgic,” Shotaro’s voice says. “I was always trailing behind him. Looking at his back.”  
  
“And you were fine with that?” He hangs a left; steps neatly over a puddle of gritty rainwater formed in the uneven break in the sidewalk. Behind him Shotaro is apparently not so lucky, a faint splash audible, and Sokichi’s lips twitch as he hears him hiss out a curse.  
  
“I mean,” Shotaro says, after he’s jogged to catch up. “I used to think that I… wanted to walk next to him. Like an equal.” He laughs – a small, incredulous sound. “But maybe I just. Wanted him to turn around once in a while and look at me.”  
  
Sokichi slows his pace. Stops and looks over his shoulder. Shotaro has stopped short as well, staring at him seemingly with his breath held.  
  
“You shouldn’t think about it so much,” he says. “What you didn’t get from him. Better to focus on what you did.”  
  
He lifts his chin, a silent ‘let’s go’ gesture, and sets off again down the quiet, almost-empty street.  
  
When he next turns back, outside the entrance of Blue Cats Café, Shotaro has vanished. Returned to his own Fuuto, he knows in some instinctive way. Just as he’d come here – with no preamble. As if the wind itself had carried him off. And he took his hat with him. Funny, the way things work around here.  
  
He stands there with a hand on the doorframe, observing the vacant sidewalk, an odd, restless feeling wound tight in his chest.  
  
So that’s it, then.  
  
“Hanasaki,” he calls, ten minutes later as he steps into the pool hall. The man in question, blatantly hungover and seemingly having not gone home last night, lifts his head from his makeshift desk in the corner with some difficulty.  
  
“…Need somethin’, Narumi?” he mumbles.  
  
Sokichi shrugs his jacket off, draping it over his arm, a contemplative set to his mouth. “Do you know anyone who’s looking to get into this business? I’m thinking about maybe… taking on an apprentice, finally.” He pauses. “No one too young, though.”  
  
_Since clearly I can’t be trusted to behave myself._


End file.
